The Dance
by Rainey13
Summary: A tag to the episode Countermeasures: The counterfeiting operation left Neal with a lot to think about. But one thing is clear - June wants to dance, and Neal wants to oblige her.


_**A/N: Was I the only one who teared up a little at the end of Countermeasures when June said maybe she just wanted to dance again, and Neal offered his hand? I'm hoping there was a little more to the dance...**_

* * *

The morning sun beckoned, and Neal obliged, opening the doors leading out to the rooftop balcony. The fresh air rushed over him, enveloping him in its embrace. There was still a hint of the night's chill, but a promise of warmth.

Leaving the balcony doors open, he walked over to the interior door and opened it. He'd heard, and smelled, the delivery a few minutes earlier, and what he found didn't disappoint. The housekeeper had set out a tray with coffee, a freshly baked cinnamon roll, fresh fruit, and juice. A neatly bundled _Times_ completed the offering.

_June really did take good care of him..._

He picked up the tray and the paper, carefully kicking the door closed behind him. A quick walk later had him placing the items on the outdoor table. Then he ducked back inside long enough to pull on a robe over his pajama pants before returning outside. He poured a cup of coffee, pulled a chunk of the huge roll onto a separate plate, and sat down, opening the front section of the paper.

Five minutes later, the coffee and roll were still untouched, and he had to admit he hadn't actually been able to read a single article.

_It had been a difficult case..._

Oh, maybe not as difficult as some, in the physical sense anyway – though there had been more guns involved than he would have preferred. But it had definitely taken an emotional toll on him.

_He wears a hat..._

Yeah, okay, he got it. Bradford 'Ford' Tillman could be his future. No need to beat him over the head with comparisons. _Like Diana's clever comment that an ex-con getting help from June reminded her of someone else..._

He was _not_ Ford. Not today, not tomorrow.

_People can change..._

Was that true? More specifically, could _he_ change? Or was his future pre-ordained, coded into his blood like he'd told Peter during the Burma case. Blood was thicker than water, right? _He'd have to ask Mozzie where that particular quote came from..._

And yet, he _had_ changed, in many ways, both subtle and overt. Okay, it was true, when he'd actually had the official Treasury plate in his hands, he _had_ felt like a kid with an expense account in a candy store – or like he'd just found the lingerie section in a catalog. _Though in his case he'd actually been more like nine, not twelve, when he'd had that moment of childhood revelation. Always a tad precocious..._

When it really mattered, though, a score wasn't his first thought. When he'd found those plates in Byron's table, his first action had been to bring Peter upstairs. And at the end, when he'd known beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ford's tale had all been a lie, that the man had used all of them, including June, his response had reflected everything that he had learned from Peter. He'd offered Ford a way out, by coming clean. In the not so very distant past, he would have identified with Ford, covered for him, probably even have helped him leave with the money, not some cut-up newspaper.

_You can either be a con or a man, you can't be both._

Peter wanted to believe in him, he knew that. And since Peter was, in fact, the person he trusted most in his life, that meant a lot. _He wondered what Freud would make of that, giving his most sincere trust to the man who had taken away his freedom – and done it twice!_ Outside of Mozzie, no one else had _ever_ believed in him like Peter did, and Neal was aware of consciously trying to live up to that.

Most of the time anyway.

_Old habits..._

Old habits did, indeed, die hard. Assuming, of course, that they could ever be killed off completely. Maybe they just faded little by little. _Like an old con man's smile..._

Did he really want to be an _old_ con man? Smiling, and lying, for a living on his way to the old folks' home? Making an escape in a power wheelchair instead of skipping nimbly across the rooftops, or blending effortlessly into a high society crowd?

_Byron figured out one thing that Ford never did - there's never a final score._

Could he completely walk away from the old life? Did he have it in him – or would that blood factor forever tie him to a shady world filled with grey? On the other hand, he was an intelligent guy; _very_ intelligent in fact, with the IQ test scores to back that up. He'd always thought that he could do pretty much anything he'd ever put his mind to. So if he really made up his mind to leave the world of the con behind him...

_Right – that must be why he'd re-hidden that printing plate._

He was _NOT_ Ford, dammit! He wasn't!

_Maybe I just wanted to go dancing again..._

Yes, it had been a difficult case, and perhaps the most difficult part was knowing that Ford had used – hurt – June as part of the con. No one – _NO ONE_ – should do that. Oh, he certainly wasn't going to fool himself that June had been naïve enough not to know what was going on in days gone by with her husband and Ford. She knew, maybe even appreciated the hint of danger in being on the periphery of their schemes.

But she had opened her home, and her heart, to him. She had given him a sense of _belonging_ that he had once assumed he'd never find again. She had _gone to bat_ for him when Pierce Spellman had kidnapped him at gunpoint, helping convince Peter to at least consider the possibility that he hadn't simply run off to fence the jade. When he'd been released the second time, after the explosion, June had fought to get permission to bring him back to her home. _He still wasn't sure what strings she had had to pull there. The DOJ had been adamant that the penthouse suite was __not__ to be part of the deal._

She had let Ford back in, knowing what kind of man he had been, and was. Hoping, maybe, that there was enough of the magic of years gone by to make the risk worthwhile. Finding though that the magic was gone.

She had seen something in Neal, though, something salvageable maybe? Whatever it was, he owed her a debt that one dance, to a scratchy old LP, couldn't begin to pay.

He set the front section of the paper aside, reaching instead for the pages with the arts and entertainment news, scanning the pages quickly. Surely there must be...

Yes! It was perfect...

Except for being outside of his proscribed two mile radius.

He could always call Peter. Or maybe Elizabeth...

_No, maybe better not to try that one again so soon._

Maybe this was a case where he should just try the truth with Peter. Stranger things had happened, right? But if he was going to do that, it was probably best attempted in person.

* * *

"Neal!"

"Elizabeth." He stepped inside at her unspoken invitation.

"What brings you out on a Saturday morning?"

"I was hoping to talk to Peter about something."

"Well, he took Satchmo for a walk. They should be back soon. Want some coffee while you're waiting?"

"That'd be great, thanks."

He sat down on the couch, watching as Elizabeth disappeared into the kitchen. She reappeared shortly carrying two mugs, handing one over as she sat down next to him.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." She sipped at her coffee and then looked at him. "Want to give me a preview?"

He gave a little shrug. "I would, but I don't want Peter thinking that I'm going behind his back again."

"Ah, he told me about that."

"I figured he would."

"You were pretty sure of yourself."

He looked at her and grinned. "It worked."

"It did," Elizabeth agreed, laughing. "I'm really glad we did it. June is a wonderful woman."

"Yeah, she is."

"And that song!" she said, punching his shoulder for emphasis. "You've been holding out on us!"

"I had a good partner. That makes anyone sound good."

"Oh, right." Elizabeth reached for him again, but this time she laid a gentle hand on his forearm. "How is she?"

"A little hurt."

"Is this about her?"

Neal was saved from needing to answer that by the sound of the door opening. A moment later, a blur of yellow lab bounded in, pouncing on him.

"Neal, what are you doing here?"

"He came to ask you something," Elizabeth said as she got to her feet, heading toward the kitchen.

Peter leaned down to unhook Satchmo's leash, staring at Neal as he did. "Going behind my back to my wife again? Neal..."

"No, Peter, I didn't."

"He really didn't, honey," Elizabeth confirmed, reappearing with another cup of coffee. She handed it to her husband and then sat down on the couch again. "But I'm pretty sure it has something to do with June."

"Is that true, Neal? Is she all right?"

"She's hurting," Neal said softly. "When I got back yesterday, she was just looking at those photos, listening to an old album. She said she knew what kind of man Ford was, but she just wanted to remember the past, what she and Byron had." He paused a moment before continuing. "I guess I never really thought about how much she must miss Byron sometimes."

"I'm sure it had to be hard," Peter agreed. "Finding out that Ford had used her."

Neal nodded. "Yeah. And then she said something else, that maybe she just wanted to go dancing again."

"So what did you do?" Elizabeth asked.

"I danced with her. But one dance, in her parlor, to a scratchy old record doesn't really seem like it's enough." He pulled out a newspaper page from his pocket and handed it over to Peter.

"A big band dance?"

"At the Westwood, tonight."

"You're asking June to go?"

"Well, that depends on you," Neal said. "It's outside my radius. But I swear, Peter, there's no angle here. I just want to take June dancing. I owe her." He paused, looking at Peter and Elizabeth. "You could come," he offered, smiling. "It would be fun. Some big band music, a little dancing. I'd even promise not to take any pictures."

"Oh, there would definitely be no pictures," Peter replied, looking over at his wife.

"I think it sounds like fun," Elizabeth said. "And we don't have any plans for tonight."

"All right," Peter agreed. "If June's available, we'll go."

* * *

June was available, and they went.

In the spirit of a big night out, Neal arranged for a limousine. He and June thus arrived in high style to pick the Burkes up. Peter grumbled a little bit about it all being too showy, but when he found his favorite Heisler beer on ice, he quit complaining.

After surprising June with the invitation, and getting a preview of the gown she would be wearing, Neal had gone all out with a tuxedo. He heartily complimented Elizabeth on the shimmering cocktail dress she had chosen – and for once only had a few minor complaints about Peter's suit.

The venue had dressed up for the event as well. The tables were set with linens and china, the band shell decorated with elegant white and gold. The dance floor glittered under a myriad of lights.

* * *

They danced.

If either Neal or June noticed the questioning stares over the difference in their ages, neither gave any indication. To watch Neal, all one saw was a man with attention only for his elegant partner.

To watch June, it was easy to see the young woman from the Lenox Lounge. She seemed to glide across the floor, relaxed in her partner's confident lead.

Some of the musicians recognized her, and the band wound up with an unannounced vocalist for several numbers; actually, two vocalists when June pulled Neal with her. They made their way through a few Sinatra standards, ending with the aptly titled _The Best is Yet to Come._

After the vocal set, Neal led her back to the table, where Peter and Elizabeth were waiting.

"Oh, you're wearing an old lady out," June said as she sank into her chair, though the smile on her face and in her voice belied the protest of fatigue.

"You are _not_ an old lady," Neal said, as he pushed her chair in. "You're the most beautiful woman here. Followed closely by the lovely Mrs. Burke," he added, winking at Elizabeth.

"Oh, he's too much," June laughed, glancing at Elizabeth.

"He is," Elizabeth agreed. "But I kind of like it."

"Did you wear Peter out?" Neal asked.

"I think I might have."

"Well, in that case." Neal held his hand out to Elizabeth as he looked over at Peter. "May I?"

Peter just smiled and shrugged as his wife slipped her hand into Neal's. "Just have her back by midnight," he warned. "I might turn into a pumpkin."

As Neal and Elizabeth moved off toward the dance floor, June raised her wine glass in Peter's direction. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For letting Neal do this. You didn't have to."

"This exception was for a good cause."

"A cause?"

"Neal said he owed you."

"I think I might be the one who owes him," June said. "That house was so empty."

"You give him some balance in his life. He needs that."

"He is trying, Peter."

"I know. But I also know it's pretty much a constant battle for him."

"Maybe not so constant any longer."

Peter raised his wine glass in a small toast. "I hope so."

June raised her glass as well. "I see the changes," she said, taking a sip. "Peter, he's not Ford."

"He is capable of genuinely caring about people," Peter said. "That might be what saves him."

"It will," she agreed. "Along with the support of people who genuinely care about him."

Peter nodded, sipping his wine again. "Well, it won't happen overnight," he said. "But there is hope. In the meantime, since I seem to have lost my wife, may I have the next dance, Mrs. Baker?"

"You may, Mr. Burke."

Peter smiled and stood up, helping June to her feet. Hand in hand they joined Neal and Elizabeth on the dance floor.

_The best is yet to come, and won't that be fine..._


End file.
